Almost Too Late
by EllyHolmes
Summary: After spending three years without his blogger, Sherlock finally believes it's safe to see him again. Watson's been depressed since Reichenbach, and starts to take drastic measures. Will Sherlock make it to his John in time? Or will Sherlock be too late? {written in poem form} {I wrote this after watching Reichenbach for the 16th time recently...I was overcome by my Johnlock feels}
1. Chapter 1

"Come home, come home!" John cried  
As he sat by Sherlock's headstone side  
He wailed and he moaned  
He shook and he slipped  
He even got back his psychosomatic limp  
His hand began to tremor  
His body to shake  
And too many tears in the wake  
Little did he know  
His friend was not dead  
It was merely a fake gash on the side of his head  
To home he walked  
All alone  
For the third year without Mr. Holmes  
At night he twisted and turned in his bed  
As horrible images flooded his head.  
From a time at the pool to a fall off the roof  
Watson finally knew what he had to do  
The next morning  
When he walked outside  
Poor John Watson stared to cry.

.  
For Mr. Holmes the stories a bit more bleak  
It'd been three years since he'd gotten a good nights sleep  
Now he knew three years were rough  
He had to see John  
Enough was enough.  
He trailed him through the city  
Every turn he too  
Until he saw John  
Climbing up too.  
He ran so fast  
But he couldn't keep up  
John took another step  
And he fell from above.  
Sherlock's knees hit the floor  
As he let out a cry  
Then be ran quickly to the dead man's side  
He took his bloody head  
Put it in his lap  
And said, "Come on John, just a tap.  
Let me know you're still alive  
I've waited three years, THREE YEARS,  
Oh please be alright!"

.

.  
Then John Watson's finger flinched  
And his nose wrinkled as if it itched.  
Sherlock let out a gasp  
As a tear left his eye  
"Someone call an ambulance, the police, call anything!"  
Mr. Holmes was desperate for someone to hear his plea.  
"Oh he's my friend, please!"  
A girl in a coat turned around  
Her white lab coat touching the ground  
"Sherlock?" She gasped  
Wet her eyes grew  
"Yesterday you were dead as far as I knew!"  
Sherlock pressed his forehead against Johns and said,  
"Yes but now we must save this doctor, my best friend."  
She drew out her phone  
The sirens came quick  
The ambulances came lickety-split  
On a stretcher  
His limp body rode  
Sherlock beside him, almost alone.  
Until Sherlock took  
Johns limp hand  
Smoothing it over felt ever so grand.  
"John my friend,  
My very best mate,  
I "died" only so this wouldn't be your fate."

.  
Day after day Watson was asleep  
And Holmes was there  
Listening to every beep.  
He sat around never leaving his hand  
Rubbing it again and again made it not so bad.  
Until one day  
When Sherlock's heart skipped a beat  
Sleeping beauty awoke from the sleep.  
First the right eye  
Then the left  
Then a slight twist of the head.  
Sherlock rested his head  
On John's bed side  
Tears left  
Both of their eyes  
With all of the energy he had inside  
John lifted his arm and laid it across  
What he now realized was Sherlock.  
"Is this real?" He whispered, a pain in his head  
"Or... Am I really dead?"  
Sherlock let out a wet sort of laugh  
"You're alive John, and I thank heaven Wfor that.  
I was almost too late,  
But I've been by your side.  
John, I love you."  
The army doctor started to cry.


	2. Never Too Late

Sherlock didn't move  
But he started to shake  
He started to tremor, to whimper, to break.  
But with the firm hand across his back  
He vowed to never leave him like that.  
Watson's hand started to move  
Up and down Holmes back, through the groves.  
"Now Sherlock, please don't cry,  
Tell me why later,  
Not now, not at this time."  
When a smile crossed the consulting detectives face  
John knew it wasn't a waste.


	3. Alternate Ending

**{This ending goes where the four bullet points are in the original chapter.}**

.

.  
Sherlock laid down his forehead against his  
Then knowing this wasn't a trick  
His friend was dead  
And he wasn't alright  
He felt empty and sick inside  
He reached into his pocket  
Putting a gun to his head  
For now he knew Watson was really dead  
He pressed the trigger lightly, not too hard  
Not enough for a bullet or shard  
"John Watson,"  
He said, his voice shook too,  
"John Watson, this is for you."  
Pulling the trigger, everything turned red  
Even the scarf next to John Watson's head.


End file.
